Love, Love And Love

I see love in the sea of your eyes

I feel love in your large heart

l get pain in your absence 

I pick up memories in your footprints

I get colour in your dream

As my dream is same

I read the poems in your pen

I breathe the air surrounding you

I walk in the forest of love and dream

l live in the island of mystery 

Come and make a history. 

If anyone loves you

My heart burns

I can’t control myself

When I see you.

A spirit in chains

The first day of winter… This cruel season came very early and cold this year. This could be known from the fact that people changed into warm clothes in the fall, put their hands in their pockets so that they wouldn’t get cold, and even though they tried to cover their faces with scarves, their noses turned red as if someone had pinched them. Everyone hurried to their warm house, but it was surprising that Hosiyat was selling bread near the schoolyard in such a cold weather. Usually, at this time, her friends would stay for extra training after the lesson. Hosiyat was also with them. However, these 2 months completely changed Hosiyat. She was not as cheerful as before, there was no joy on his face. All kinds of rumors spread in the school. Someone said that she had a mental illness, and someone said that her house burned down and that she needed money. But who is telling the truth is unlikely.

Sometimes, her classmates used to call her “Ms. bread” during class to make fun of her. Looking at this girl with a radiant face, it would not even cross her mind that she was a girl who used to be extravagantly dressed, stood out from her peers, and was difficult to find a match for. She had changed so much that comparing the Hosiyat 2 months ago with the current Hosiyat, one could feel the difference between the earth and the sky. Why did it happen? Can this little opportunity have such an impact on a person? It’s as if she’s on someone’s trail… She looks like Hosiyat, but in reality she’s like another girl. Time has passed since then. The sun and the moon took turns guarding. It has been 4 months since Hosiyat started selling bread. But until now, no one has seen a smile on her face. The lesson is over. Hosiyat’s best friend Bashorat asked her to stay. It is no exaggeration to say that Hosiyat was one of the best students of the 8th grade. However, now her studies have dropped, and it was not known whether she was in class or not. Now Hosiyat and Bashorat are sitting together. The prophecy did not know how to ask, the thought did not leave her that what she heard was true.

Finally she asked:

– Friend, Hosiyat, why are you so upset? You never did that before. What happened? Trust me, I won’t tell anyone.

Hosiyat was about to cry. With her eyes fixed on one point:

– What can I do? If I don’t change, who will change? I know, I know everything. What they say about me, what nicknames they gave me. But I am not silent. Do you know why?! Because it is better for me to suffer from mental illness and for our house to burn down than to lose my mother. After 1 week, dad is better than stepmom. are you listening I say better. Better!!!

Hosiyat was crying inside. Until now, she couldn’t laugh, and she couldn’t cry either. She just seemed numb before. Bashorat, who heard these words, could not help herself. Unknowingly, 1-2 years rolled down her face like a necklace. She thought about what to comfort her.

Bashorat thought that Hosiyat was left without a mother very early, that all stepmothers are bad, and that they torture their stepchildren.

That’s why Hosiyat sold bread in the cold. So, her stepmother forced her.

Hosiyat could barely contain herself. Until now, she never thought that she might lose her parents. They say that 15 days of the month are light and 15 days are dark. It turned out that now there are dark days in Hosiyat.

– Well, don’t cry, friend. It happens to everyone. God, may her place be in paradise. If you want, come to our house, my family will be happy.

Hosiyat wanted to answer at that moment, but something bitter got stuck in her throat.

It has been more than 20 days since this incident happened. I think Hosiyat’s life 20 days ago was much better than now. Because now Hosiyat is not studying at school. The money Hosiyat brought home was never enough for his stepmother.  Rumors spread that he was secretly saving some to escape, fueling his stepmother’s anger. She berated his father, ultimately convincing him to abandon Hosiyat at the orphanage. In some ways, her situation is better now than when she lived with her stepmother.

However, Hosiyat was completely cut off from this world. Only black clouds were drunkenly rioting in her sky. Her mother’s sudden death, the sufferings of her stepmother, the teasing of her classmates, the fact that she sold bread in the freezing cold, and even the fact that her own father abandoned her because she was a missing wife, flashed before her eyes like a movie.  She is afraid to watch this movie, he doesn’t have the courage, but no matter what she does, her soul is chained, no matter how hard she tries, she is doomed. Her only handful of crying pillows comforted her every night by stroking her head.

Tursunboyeva Nigora Abdumannob qizi was born on February 23, 2009, in  Uzbekistan. Currently, she is a 10th grade student at the  Is’hoqxon Ibrat Creativity School. She is proficient in writing poetry and stories and can freely speak in English, Russian,Uzbek and German. Her stories have been published in the prestigious Kenyan journal “Kenya Times” and in Germany’s “Raven Cage” journal her story “Family” was featured. Her poems have appeared in the book “Stars of the Knowledge Arena” and she has been honored with a medal. In the American anthology “The Voices of Uzbekistan,” under the title “Oʻzbegim Dilbandlari,” her poems “Armon,” “Bahorim,” and “Endi sheʼr yozmasman” have been published. And she is an active member of the World Writers and Artists  Working Group Juntos Por Las Letras.

————————————————————-

dreams of a burning cross

stand naked in

a field of death

now is as good

a time as any to

wonder where it

all went wrong

soon the sun will

fade to thunder

and lightning

dreams of a

burning cross

with you still

nailed to it

remember the

cute blonde

grinding up

against you

in the club

oh so many

years ago

she was a he

and you missed

out on a night

for the ages

depressed soul

seeking like

minded curvy

female

to die together

or at least fuck

some shit up

along the way

———————————————————-

the morning news

i haven’t

watched

news in

the

morning

in years

sitting here

in the hospital

it’s nothing

but murders,

shootings,

traffic reports

and incoming

rain

i see nothing

has fucking

changed

——————————————-

completely understanding

i tried compassion

but it clashed with

my socks

empathy never smelled

right on me, but i am

a stubborn fuck

i keep putting it on

there’s this woman

in colorado that secretly

loves me but isn’t willing

to have her heart broken

yet again

here i am many miles away

completely understanding

fear builds many walls

i enjoy poking around

and breaking them

down every now

and then

she has no worries

about me breaking

her heart

i worry about her

destroying what

is left of mine

of course, worry

and desire are that

thin line i refuse

to snort

——————————————————

outside of a bookstore

i remember lighting a

cigarette for a beautiful

young woman years ago

as we talked outside of

a bookstore

she told me she read

my poetry and thought

i could do better

i chuckled and said

you sound like all

my teachers when

i was in high school

graduating with honors

so, the easy way is

your path, not that

sexy

i cornered that market

years ago honey, what

is your point

she said never mind

and walked away

i saw her a few days ago

plays the bass in a decent

punk band

i don’t think she remembers

me, which is fine, that is a

long list as well

i would like to let her know

it never was that fucking easy

———————————————-

tethered to the world

faint whispers as the

demons gather to seek

a better solution

pain is a necessary evil

you remind yourself

it keeps you grounded

tethered to the world

you know how to

conquer

this is when the glasses

of booze get a little

stronger

courage is loading

a bullet and saying

goodbye

but this is not a night

for profiles

the faint whispers

are now a scream

coltrane

in the background

all the reasons to stay

have moved on

sometimes, the lights

turn themselves off

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in suburbia, never knowing when he will be allowed to escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash and The Asylum Floor. He has a new chapbook out with Casey Renee Kiser titled Altered States of The Unflinching Souls. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Critically examine the postmodern poem of the greatest inventive genius of twentieth century poetry, The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock.

T.S. Eliot’s Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock is substantially pontificated by the readings of Grover Smith’s discovery of Henry James’s story Crapy Cornelia about a chivalrous heroic charismatic personae in nostalgic temperament for being fallen in love despite polarized worlds. To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all———Should say: “That is not what I meant, at all. That is not it, at all.”

Verbosity of Polonius oriented Prufrock is cast in the image of Hamlet like dilemma upon the portentous questions touched by the magical boudoir of Lazarus comments upon the appealing picture of plight; despite baroque verbal embroidery of the afterthought along with the women come and go telling of Michelangelo marred by the deterrent of wondered fogg in the moorings of “Do I dare?” and “Do I dare?”

Prufrock’s deluded and diseased existentialist psychosexual spirituality reanimates after all the captivity of brooding alienation in the salvation from the redemptive quest towards security and non vulnerability. Mermaids are thought to be elusive and mystic fantastic beasts as byproducts of Eliotic phantasmic escapism. This solitude of the phantasmagoria world, shuffling memories and repressed desires ultimately pioneers ship wreckage of humanity. Harsh voices and harsh laughter of the women summoned upon the Prufrockian spirit from the shadowed archways and diabolical gothic apartments; along with drunkards reeling by chattering and cursing like monstrous beasts and grotesque children in awaital by the doorsteps and heard shrieks and oaths from the gloomy courts.

Whatmore is interesting of these mermaids fantasy is the imaginary wanderlust of Prufrock’s metaphysical asylum from being “pair of ragged claws/scuttling across the floors of silent seas” Furthermore textual genesis of Prufrockian spirit in metaphorical and rhetorical language exists as the new art emotion as well as the patient corpse—-the body post operative and post catalysis of sulfurous acid since emotional experience undergoes transmutation and transformation following depersonality of split consciousness and dissolving towards climactic dissolution of poetic personality/selfhood.

Nonetheless textual frustration and gender performativity of this dramatic monologue investigates heterosexual desire and heterosexual intercourse through colloquial euphemism as implied by “Let us make our visit”. Moreover, biblically the Hebrew double entendre of know implicates masculinized libidinal object of male gaze through the sexual encounter. “I know the voices dying with a dying fall” implicates the lovesickness of Twelfth Night Orsino and in this case, Prufrock masculine desire for the eroticization of the feminine corporeality. Orgasm of dying little death echoes masculine heterosexual desire; yet the insidious intent of orgasm happens spatially in the “farther room”.

Further Reading
“Till Human Voices Wake Us and We Drown”: Community in the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, James C. Haba [Glassboro State College] , Modern Language Association, Spring 1997, Vol. 7, No. 1, pp. 53-61, Modern Language Association

Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, November 1957, Vol. 19, No. 2, pp. 71-72, National Council of Teachers of English

The Textual Genesis of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, Catalyzing Prufrock, Nicholas B. Mayer [University of Oxford], Journal of Modern Literature, Vol. 34, No. 3, Spring 2011, pp. 182-198, Indiana University Press.
Textual Frustration: The Sonnet and Gender Performance in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, Brian Clifton [University of North Texas], Journal of Modern Literature, Vol. 42, No. 1. Fall 2008, pp. 65-76, Indiana University Press.

Prufrock and Other Observations: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, A Guide to the Selected Poems of T.S. Eliot, B.C. Southam, A Harvest Original Publication.

CHANGING LIFE

Why our everyday is the same
It is not a blame.
It is not even gratitude
It is a desire to be improved.

Why to go to work everyday
Why to live for only salary
Why to be only in normality
Can’t we change our way?

It is zeal to improve gradually
This way will work effectively
We will be factors for ourselves
For being people succeeded perfectly.


BIRTHPLACE

In the sky, there is a white cloud
As calling you, I enunciate loud
I’ll be devoted, I could
Uzbekistan, you are my proud.

People are conscientious, genius
Fertile soils, gardens-gorgeous
All crops are, there, delicious
You have a history glorious.

Invariably, we are hilarious
Even, in period of Coronavirus
Because of your inspiration
Teenagers are inclined, vivacious!

There are incredible countries, in the world
They are said “Frabjous” in other word
Anyway, I can say that is right
Uzbekistan, you are my pride!


ADOLESCENCE

In the life, the unforgettable period is adolescence
All know that is right, from own sense
Everybody says from experience
Childhood is the best remembrance.

Ask from any oldster
“Which period do you prefer?”
They respond without hesitation
Adolescence will be the best “Option”

Adolescence is full with pleasure
I would say that “YES” for sure
If it hadn’t been rapture
People, passed from childhood would be nutter.

Briefly, do not squander childhood
Otherwise, you will be regretted
When you are oldster
Completely, you will be missed.


LOVING HER

The beauty I’ve seen ever
I will forget her, never
I didn’t feel any bother
I wanna be with her forever.

I feel her hands every night
For her, I won’t turn back from fright
I imagine being with her at sight
it’s my estimated destiny-bright.

I know nothing is impossible
In this life, everything is enforceable
What I want is reasonable
I realize I am capable.


Mirakhmedov Jonibek Umid ugli
He can be reached at mirakhmedovjonibek@gmail.com

After my dad’s funeral

After my dad’s funeral, my mother got married to a butcher. I cried until I lost my voice, and then somebody I didn’t know transplanted a flower into my throat. Later, I became a one-eyed cat who could fly from mouth to mouth. I was light like a daydream masking the face of an immigrant child. The butcher coughed savagely, shaking his iron long tail to disturb me. I felt hungry, running toward my mother’s thigh to ask for a new chance. She said: no way, babe. He is our god. Just kneel before him. Just be a good girl.

I crawled into a corner, burying my face into the torn curtains calculating the distance between heaven and my father’s coffin. I wanted to be there. I wished to make a candy from the silky clouds& send it to him. I desired badly to meet his god and ask him if he was real or surreal. My stepfather gets closer. He holds scissors in one hand, and a cactus in the other. His grin swallowed the room.

Ode to my grandmother

My grandmother is an Alzheimer’s patient.
Last year she lost a tooth and memory. She began to confuse laughing with crying.
She started wearing our curtains, dating a late actor, and playing cards with my Shirazi cat.
“I love you, Granny” I always say. But she looks the other way waiting for Azrael.
She tells me how beautiful she used to be when she was my age.
I smile. My grandmother says she had a hoopoe once but couldn’t remember where he went. Maybe he hid in my chest? She wonders
she touches her nipples as if she tries to discover something new about them.
My little hoopoe, I miss you! She says with tears in both eyes.
The moment her last tear kissed the floor, I heard a sudden and strange sound coming from within, and then, just then my grandmother was gone.

The Trail

As usual, Israfil blows the trumpet. I sit on the edge of an animal’s tongue,

Thinking about how many times God massaged my neck.

The sky pours out random rumors about the curse of the Pharos.

I wave at a chimpanzee who looks like my father. We laugh.

I see a familiar face who reminds me of a popular leader.

Now he has turned into a clove flower.

How long were I here weaving more fairy tales over living and dead?

A cherry tree wears a rosary, buzzing like a bumblebee.

I am looking for anything to blame God for. The last hour will come after a few seconds.

When my face becomes a starfish, and when the sun gets smaller to fit the size of my pocket,

When water fills my grassy mouth, I begin to count the scars carved around my belly.

A lot of moons and poems mixed with my blood. Do you know laughter?

I ask God, who hasn’t a throne or golden chairs. He squeezes my hand and whispers into my ears, I am the inventor. Three little angels engrave the first letters of their names on the tree of paradise. I run, wondering how Adam and Eve ate each other.

I still hear the breaking news, although this is my second death.

God was holding a pair of scissors, managing to touch the tip of my nose.

Everything is purple. Another version of me was crucified to a wall.

I kneel on a prayer mat. Butterflies circled around my body.

Now I understand that I am preparing for a new death. Good girl,

Israfil says. I smile, swallowing more stars. God knows how to create entertainment.

The crime

Someone knocked me down& mailed my corpse to a floating cavern.

Each part of my body sings a lullaby.

Sometimes I hear elephants telling a folk tale.

Sometimes I hear frogs drumming out of my ear.

The angel of death boils a banana to feed his young.

I am sweating wondering if the hell was a short joke.

A blind woman shedding her skin. She has a witch’s fingers.

I look into her eyes& it takes me to a tulip garden.

My arm turned into a wise man.it talks to me as if he spent all his life as a philosopher.

I kneel among many little moons.

God is nearby, wearing a grand hat made of milky cloud.

Talk to me, he says pointing his finger to an upper window.

I have a genie inside, I say.

God laughs. This is an old joke.

I try to kill myself, but I remember that I am already dead.

The man who slaughtered me was an artist.

He knows how to squeeze castor oil into my fully open eyes.

Transformation

I dream of cockatoo birds sipping milk from the sky

I fly from corner to corner holding sugar, wine, and more funny jokes.

God is up sitting on his throne watching how the earth dances under my bare feet.

Kisses, wishes and more than that riding silver horses.

Creamy cloud falling down close to my head singing an old song.

My bones covered by the rhythm. My tongue turned into a butterfly. I sway in the air thinking of the worlds I pass dreaming of more honey rivers to have more fun, wondering how many orphan girls still live within me.

I try to raise both hands throwing them to a new universal castle. I feel new again. I sense more than being alive. There is something beyond happiness. There is delicious beyond joy.

Believe me, there is music you have never heard of.

Hallucinations

I had a dream of cows lead some people;

Who were humming an old-fashioned poem.

The sound of the flute was coming out from the teeth of an ancient Oak tree.

In that dream also, there was a moon and a half falling into my mother’s lap

She was stitching a great piece of the sky upon the little heads of three terrified cats.

I had a dream of being a gorilla

The dirt was caked perfectly with my fingers

I was another version of myself

Peeping into another world

Bathing in another water.

My body had billions of rooms

Empty ones without guests.

I was closed to be a river

But the temptation to be something bigger

Made me kneel

Swerving like a verse

Hovers like an angel’s napkin.

Shivers like a love song

In a poet’s chest.